Lifetime Burning

by Gillard, Linda

  ‘Oh, yes. They do. They still love their children. They always love their children. Always…’

  Theo hated it when his mother cried. He pushed the packet of sweets into his pocket, got down from the table and went out into the garden to play. The back door swung open and a gust of wind swept God and all his angels off the kitchen table, sending them hurtling through the air.

  People said Theo was a little angel, a dear boy, no trouble, and with his bright blue eyes, blond curls and his pale, slightly anxious face, people said he looked like an angel too.

  But not to me. I looked at Theo and all I ever saw was the personification of hideous, unnatural, unforgivable, irredeemable sin.

  And I saw Rory.

  Hugh was late home for supper and Flora put a plate in front of him that had sat in the oven for an hour. He ate the congealed food without complaint while Flora sat at the kitchen table with a cup of tea, turning the pages of The Church Times, wishing it were Woman’s Own.

  ‘I had a chat with Ettie after Evensong today.’

  ‘Oh? What about?’

  ‘Theo.’

  Flora looked up. ‘Has he been misbehaving at Orchard Farm?’

  ‘No, of course not. He’s always good as gold when he goes there. She asked whether we’d thought about Theo learning the piano.’ Flora’s back stiffened and she stared fixedly at the newsprint. ‘Ettie said she’d be very happy to give him lessons. No charge of course. She realises we can’t afford to pay.’

  ‘I’m sure Ettie doesn’t have time to give Theo piano lessons.’

  ‘Apparently the bookshop’s closing down so she’s going to be out of a job. She says she’ll be at a bit of a loose end. She seemed quite keen… I gather she was Rory’s first teacher.’

  ‘Well, she’d be wasting her time with Theo. He’s such a clumsy child. He’s like me, he’s got no co-ordination. Ettie tried to teach me as well as Rory, but I was hopeless. No patience. Theo’s just the same.’

  ‘Actually,’ Hugh said mildly, ‘Ettie thinks he shows some promise. That’s one of the reasons she suggested it. He’s shown a lot of interest in the piano and she says he already has a well-developed sense of rhythm.’

  ‘How on earth can she tell?’

  ‘From playing with him, she says. And from his singing. You know what a lovely little voice he has. Ettie seems to think he’s quite musical. She said he reminds her very much of Rory at the same age.’

  Flora closed the newspaper, stood up and went to fill the kettle. ‘Well, I don’t want him to learn the piano. And I wish Ettie would mind her own business!’

  ‘Flora!’

  She banged the kettle down on the hob. The gas ignited with a roar. ‘I want my son to grow up like a normal boy - playing football, climbing trees! I can’t imagine anything worse for an only child than to spend hours every day cooped up indoors playing the piano. Look what it did to Rory!’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, he’s hardly a well-adjusted member of the community, is he? He’s not exactly what you’d call normal!’

  ‘I think it’s just that he’s phenomenally talented and a price is paid for that. It’s true Rory isn’t like other people—’

  ‘Rory is sick!’

  Hugh sighed and shook his head. ‘Sick at heart perhaps.’

  ‘Well, do you want our son turning out like that?’

  Hugh laid down his knife and fork, his appetite gone. ‘I think you’re over-reacting, Flora, but we can drop the subject if you wish. I just thought it was very kind of Ettie to offer. It would have been a wonderful opportunity for Theo.’

  ‘Theo isn’t musical! Believe me, Hugh - I can tell. Theo is nothing like Rory.’

  At bedtime Theo clambered on to Hugh’s lap and settled himself against the giant body as if into an armchair. He opened a battered book and laid it across his knees. Hugh peered over the top of Theo’s head to see what he’d chosen for his story. The boy’s soft curls tickled Hugh’s chin and he brushed them aside affectionately, cupping the boy’s head with his large hand.

  ‘Daddy…’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘D’you love me?’

  ‘Of course, my dear! I love you very, very much.’ He folded the boy in his arms and squeezed him, making the roaring bear noise that always made Theo laugh.

  Theo turned the pages of his book, looking for the story he wanted. ‘Daddy…’

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘D’you love me more than God?’

  Hugh was silent for only a moment as he deliberated, then decided to say what Theo wanted to hear. He quieted his conscience with the excuse that the boy couldn’t understand an answer of any greater complexity. ‘Yes, Theo,’ Hugh said softly, ‘I love you more than God.’ He realised, with something of a shock, that what he’d said was true.

  Theo settled back against Hugh’s chest and put his thumb in his mouth. He removed it suddenly with a little popping sound. ‘D’you love me more than Mummy?’

  Above their heads, Hugh could hear Flora upstairs, her footsteps travelling back and forth, emptying Theo’s bath, tidying toys, drawing curtains. ‘No, Theo. I love Mummy just as much as I love you. I love you both the same.’

  With another shock, Hugh realised he’d just lied.

  After the bedtime story, Flora put Theo to bed and Hugh went to his study to pray. He intended to ask God to forgive him his lie, to forgive him the sin of loving his son more than anything in this world or the next. Instead, as he knelt, his defiant heart thanked God for the gift of his only son.

  Hugh hoped that God, father of an only son, would understand.

  Chapter 12

  1974

  To begin with Hugh thought God was simply putting him to the test. The difficulties of his first marriage followed by Miriam’s sudden death had taken their toll, but he had rallied when he found new love with Flora. The birth of his son in 1966 had brought him more joy and pride than he had ever known and his love for the baby was uncomplicated, unconditional and overwhelming. But on the twenty-first of October in the same year an avalanche of mining waste slid down a Welsh mountainside and engulfed a primary school. One hundred and sixteen children died.

  Hugh’s faith had withstood the Allies’ liberation of the concentration camps and he’d eventually come to terms with the iniquity and depravity of which human beings were capable. He hadn’t known that his biggest battle - moral, intellectual and theological - would not be against evil, but against meaningless destruction, random tragedy, pointless waste - particularly of young lives. He realised that his new rôle as a father had sensitised him to the tragedy in Aberfan, but as he led prayers in the parish church facing a stunned congregation, Hugh realised he could find no meaning and therefore offer little comfort. His feelings were primitive and deep. He thanked God his own precious son was alive and was angry that many other sons weren’t. Hugh didn’t pray to be spared tragedy, he prayed simply to understand, but his prayers went unanswered.

  And then Flora had started to drink.

  It had been noted in the parish and the Bishop had had a quiet word with Hugh - had been very sympathetic in fact - but Hugh knew he was probably facing the failure of his second marriage.

  The fabric of his faith was wearing thin. In places it had worn into holes through which a cold wind of doubt blew. He hunched his broad shoulders against the blast, tensed a body racked with headaches and sleepless nights. His smile was a rare event now, reserved for needy parishioners and his son, Theo, the only person with whom Hugh felt something like his old self. Theo allowed him to feel strong and certain because, for Theo, Hugh had to have answers, even if they were only lies. There were few certainties left in Hugh’s life, but love - the possibility of loving and being loved in return - would be the last to be relinquished.

  It was late when Hugh entered the sitting room and found Flora asleep in an armchair in front of the television. The large room (used so often for parish meetings that Flora joked it was little more than an extensio
n of the church hall) was untidy with toys, newspapers and parish magazines. Hugh thought he could smell alcohol fumes and looked around for an empty glass. He could see none, which didn’t surprise him. He knew Flora would have washed it up by now and replaced it in the cupboard, leaving no tell-tale sign on the draining board.

  He looked down at his wife asleep in the chair. She was still wearing her apron and her hair was scraped back behind her ears revealing how thin her face had become. Even in sleep the tiny cleft of a frown between her brows was still visible. Gazing down at her, Hugh felt an uncomfortable mixture of tenderness and anger, although he thought the anger was directed mainly at himself. He thought of waking her with a kiss, like a fairytale prince, then thought better of the idea. Instead he bent down to switch off the television. The sudden silence woke Flora and she stirred in her armchair, sat up quickly and rubbed her eyes.

  ‘I must have dropped off. What time is it?’

  ‘Flora, can we have a talk? A serious talk. There’s something I want to discuss with you.’

  ‘It’s getting a bit late for that, isn’t it? What’s the matter?’

  Hugh sat down in the other armchair, facing her. ‘I know this will come as something of a shock to you, but… I’ve decided I want to leave the ministry.’

  Flora stared at him open-mouthed, then laughed. ‘You’re joking!’

  ‘It’s hardly a joking matter, my dear.’

  ‘How can you even think about giving up the ministry? Where would we live? What would we live on?’

  ‘I don’t know yet. I’ve given it a lot of thought, but I haven’t come up with any answers yet. No definite answers anyway. But I’m fit. I’m still only fifty-three. There must be plenty of work I could do. And with Theo at school now, perhaps you could brush up your typing and shorthand. Get a part-time job to help out. That would make a big difference. And it would get you out of the house. I think that might do you a lot of good,’ he added, with an attempt at a smile.

  ‘But… why? Why don’t you want to be a minister any more? I don’t understand.’

  ‘I find I just don’t believe any more.’

  Flora stared at him. ‘Don’t believe in God?’

  Hugh was silent for a moment. ‘I think I still believe in God. Or something like God. I think I still believe in the value of Christianity, of Christ’s teaching, certainly. But I’m not sure I believe any more in the Church.’

  Flora threw up her hands. ‘Oh, you’ve lost me now. If you believe in Christ’s teachings, I don’t see what the problem is! Aren’t you just splitting hairs? In any case, why can’t you just pretend?’

  Hugh smiled. ‘Yes, I could pretend. I’ve become rather good at pretending… But I don’t want to pretend any more. It isn’t fair on my congregation. They deserve better.’

  ‘And what about Theo and me? We deserve a roof over our heads!’

  ‘Yes, of course, and I’ll make sure I continue to provide for you both. But… there may be difficult times ahead. While I try to find another job. I won’t pretend things are going to be easy.’

  ‘But where will we go? Where will we live? And what about Theo’s school? You can’t take him away. He loves it there and he’s made lots of friends.’

  ‘Yes, I know and that’s why I think we should try to stay in this area - if we can.’ Hugh shifted in his armchair and said carefully, ‘I’ve had a word with Dora—’

  ‘You’ve spoken to Ma? Before you spoke to me? Hugh, I’m your wife!’

  ‘I’m sorry, but I needed to know whether - if the worst came to the worst, if we had to leave the vicarage and I hadn’t found a job and somewhere for us to live - I had to know whether Dora and Archie would take us in. Temporarily, of course.’

  Flora’s face crumpled and she reached into a pocket for her handkerchief. ‘Oh, Hugh, that would be so humiliating!’

  ‘It may not come to that. I’m sure it won’t! But I needed to know. Just in case. Dora was very understanding.’

  ‘But there isn’t room for all of us at Orchard Farm!’

  ‘It would only be a temporary measure. You and I could have the guest room and Theo would have Rory’s old bedroom. He loves that little room. He likes playing with Rory’s old toys.’

  Flora wiped her eyes and sniffed. ‘We could hardly live there for free. It wouldn’t be right.’

  ‘No, of course not. We’d have to pay our way somehow. It’s a great pity we don’t have any savings. But Dora said she’d be glad of extra help with the garden and around the house. Your parents are getting on now. Archie’s eighty-five.’

  ‘The garden’s been too much for him for a long time. It’s breaking his heart.’

  ‘Dora said she and Ettie just about manage to keep the house ticking over but the garden has had to be neglected. So much so, she and Archie have been thinking of selling up.’

  ‘Selling Orchard Farm?’

  ‘Yes. Archie wants to apparently. Says it’s too big and he’s too old. But Dora thinks the upheaval would kill him. She wants to stay put until - well, until a move becomes… inevitable,’ Hugh explained tactfully. ‘So you see, your parents would be doing us an enormous favour, but we’d be able to return that favour in small ways.’

  ‘But I can’t go back and live there! It’s my childhood home. There are too many memories. I was happy then,’ she added wistfully and started to cry again.

  Hugh got out of his chair and knelt beside her, taking her hand in his. ‘Darling, I thought if you had your family around you, if you spent less time alone, things might be better for you. It might be easier for you to stop drinking.’

  Flora snatched her hand away. ‘What do you mean? I don’t drink, Hugh! Whatever put that idea in your head? Just because I enjoy a sherry now and again… Have you been talking to Rory?’

  ‘Does Rory know?’

  ‘No, he doesn’t,’ Flora said hurriedly. ‘I mean - there’s nothing to know, so how could Rory know?… Oh, you’re getting me all confused! Look, I think this is a crazy idea! Going back to live at Orchard Farm, surrounded by my geriatric relations - that would be enough to drive me to drink!’

  Hugh sat back on his heels and sighed. ‘Flora, I know you drink. You don’t make a very good job of hiding it. It’s even known in the parish. Word has got as far as the Bishop, I’m afraid.’

  Flora’s mouth worked but no words came. She screwed her handkerchief into a ball and sat looking down at her clenched fist. ‘Are they kicking you out because of me?’

  ‘No. I’ve told you my reason for leaving the ministry. I can’t carry on as a parish priest. Too many things have happened… Too many things that I can’t explain, that I can’t live with. I can’t face my parishioners, I can’t face you. One day I might not be able to face Theo. I can’t live with myself, not as a minister. And even if I could, I can’t be a minister with a wife who drinks.’

  ‘I don’t drink!’

  ‘Flora—’

  ‘Just now and again! It’s nothing serious. It’s not a problem.’

  ‘Flora, you don’t cook any more, you hardly clean. Sometimes I don’t even have a clean shirt to wear. You neglect your appearance. You neglect Theo.’

  ‘I don’t!’

  ‘He asked me the other day why Mummy is always so cross with him. Was it because he was bad?’

  ‘I don’t know why he said that! I’m not always cross.’

  ‘I asked him why he plays out in the garden all the time, even when it’s cold and he said, “Mummy doesn’t like it when I make a mess indoors. And she doesn’t like the noise”. ’

  ‘Oh, what rubbish! It’s just that he gets on my nerves sometimes with all his singing and chattering away to himself.’

  Hugh smiled but couldn’t hide his exasperation. ‘He has to play make-believe games! What else can he do? He’s an only child.’

  ‘And whose fault is that?’ Flora snapped.

  Hugh bowed his head, then hauled himself to his feet. He returned to his armchair and sat down again, clasp
ing his hands in his lap. ‘I haven’t been a good husband to you, I don’t deny it. I hope to be a better one in future. It’s one of the reasons I want to leave the ministry. To give us more time together as a family. But I believe our son is being neglected and you cannot expect me to ignore that. I do try to understand your difficulties. I want to support you, but Theo comes first. Surely you must see that?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I do! It’s perfectly plain to me that he comes first! Your precious Theo, your little angel!’ she sneered. ‘You’ve no time for me, but you make time for him, don’t you?’

  ‘Flora, that’s hardly fair. If I make a fuss of Theo it’s partly because you don’t.’

  ‘You spoil him.’

  ‘Good grief! Am I not allowed to express love for my son?’

  ‘He’s not your son.’

  ‘He’s as much my son as yours!’

  ‘No, he isn’t.’

  ‘What?’

  Flora’s lip quivered and she said in a small voice, ‘He’s not your son.’

  Hugh gazed at her, uncomprehending. ‘What do you mean? Are you saying… I’m not Theo’s father?’

  ‘No, you’re not.’

  Hugh opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Positive. Theo wasn’t premature. I lied about the dates. I had to, owing to the infrequency of our lovemaking.’

  Hugh stared into space, his face slack with shock. He took a deep breath and asked, ‘Do I know the father?’

  She hesitated. ‘Yes.’

  He spread his broad hands on his thighs, as if bracing himself. ‘Will you tell me who he is?’

  ‘No. I’m sorry, but I can’t.’

  ‘I see.’ After a few moments Hugh said, ‘I hope he was someone who loved you… I’d like to think that Theo was at least a love-child.’

  ‘Yes, the father loved me. Loves me still,’ Flora said with a hint of defiance.

  ‘Married, I take it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you loved him?’